


Falling Down (On Your Knees)

by bacchanalia



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Anal Sex, Angst, BUCKLE YOUR SEAT BELTS KIDS ITS GONNA BE A RIDE, Blow Jobs, Daddy Kink, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, M/M, Pining, Praise Kink, SHEITH - Freeform, Sugar Daddy, There's gonna be feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-03-05 20:48:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13395939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bacchanalia/pseuds/bacchanalia
Summary: Shiro is recently divorced from his wife after growing tired of putting up the Successful Het Front. He doesn't know how to explore a sexuality he's always ignored, and his job doesn't give him the time to figure it out. Enter his new profession: Sugar Daddy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write this for a while but everything takes forever with me, lol. Anyways, I couldn't just write smut so this is gonna end up being angst, slow burn, and those good kinks I deserve to be shamed for. Enjoy!

__These train conversations are passing me by  
And I don't have nothing to say  
You get what you pay for  
But I just had no intention of living this way

_ -It's Raining In Baltimore, by Counting Crows. _

It’s raining on New Year’s Eve. 

Shiro takes exactly three seconds from the moment he opens the door of his sleek black car to decide whether or not he wants to use his umbrella, or if he’d prefer to let the Earth attempt to wash his sorrows away with the new year as well. 

He picks the umbrella. Parked in a covered garage in a reserved space, the hesitation doesn’t mean anything anyways. 

The sun has long since sank beneath the horizon, and the swollen moon spills it’s light onto concrete stairs that take Shiro from the garage’s corridor to the mouth of his work building. It’s unassuming in outside design. Overhead, the buzz of a dated neon blue sign glares down at him, and the raindrops bouncing off its surface looks like sparks. 

No one should be in tonight. After all, the lab is closed. The silence is what Shiro is looking forward to most as a heavy blacked out automatic door slides open before him after he taps a keycard to a screen.

“Divorce rates are at an all-time high.” The news anchor’s voice is static in the background, and the D-word cuts through Shiro like a rusted spoon. He grimaces. “Am I crazy for feeling like it has something to do with the recent legalizations of same-sex marriage? You tell me.” 

“What are you listening to?” Shiro’s voice is weary when it becomes very obvious that he  _ isn’t  _ the only one pathetic enough to come to work by choice on a holiday, even more so that oddly pointed media headlines seem to be following him everywhere. His loafers leave small puddles and clack against the linoleum as he walks towards his desk. Matt Holt, the only other person there, looks away from the TV in the upper corner of the room. 

“This conservative jerkwad who’s getting his ass handed to him.” 

“If you’re not working, shouldn’t you be home?” Shiro didn’t intend it to sound rude, but he supposes that’s how anyone would take it the second it left his lips. Internally, he sighs, chastises himself for bad people skills these past few months. Maybe that’s why his marriage ended, he muses. 

“I can turn it off if you want?” 

‘It’s alright,’ Shiro thinks he says says but doesn’t notice that it never makes its way out. It’s not fair to Matt, really. Though truthfully that could be said in regards to most people who were unfortunate enough to share a space with Shiro for any length of time anymore. There was something almost purposefully ignorant about knowing what an unpleasant entity you’d become while choosing to do nothing about it. 

“Y’know,” Matt begins again. “You can use your words. It isn’t  _ rocket science _ .” 

Shiro can hear the grin in Matt’s voice as he says that last line. A small huff that might be considered a laugh to someone who reads through the lines pushes its way free from Shiro. 

“You’re never gonna give that joke up, are you?”

“It’s the birthright of an aerospace engineer, you should use it more often.” 

“I’ll keep it in mind.” 

Shiro sits down to a stack of research he’s nowhere near close to getting sorted or figured out. A silence slips through the room that’s unsettling in ways he wishes he could ignore. The unspoken ‘why aren’t  _ you  _ home’ that has no business being asked anymore. Not that he missed it. If anything, the past six months have done wonders for the amount of work he’s gotten done now that he doesn’t have everyone on his case. 

_ Don’t you want to get home to your wife? _

That’s what he was supposed to have felt. 

Nothing to be concerned with anymore. 

Then, and now, Shiro has always felt that there’s more important things in life than conventional relationships. Part of the reason he’d gone into the field he did was because he wanted to be at the forefront of discovering just how everything in the universe fit together, and what the fabric that tied them was made out of. In relation to that, how could everything else not seem overwhelmingly trivial? His wedding day had been nothing to move the stars for.

Maybe now that he was in his mid-thirties and a sanctity-spoiler, people would leave him alone--

The door slides open again. 

Maybe not.

“What’s up, nerds?” Pidge announces her entry with a smile in her voice that immediately tells Shiro she’s up to no good. But then again, when is she ever? He doesn’t look up, and instead flips around a few papers at random. Hard at work, clearly.

“I just changed the calibration on the door scanners last week,” Matt says. “How’d you still get in?”

“By changing the calibrations on my tactics.” Pidge sounds proud of herself for that one. 

“Successfully breaking into a government building,” Matt pauses. “I like it.” 

Shiro manages a snort at that comment. Unfortunately, it directs Pidge’s attention to him. 

“Anyways,” she begins. “I came to rescue you both from research hell. We’re going out. You too, Shiro.”

When Shiro looks up from the extremely interesting number sets in front of him, Pidge’s accusing finger is pointed in his direction. 

He sighs when he says, “Sorry, Pidge. I think I’ll sit this one out.” There’s a reason he’d come here, and it definitely isn’t to tag along and feign celebration into the New Year. 

“Not a chance! You’re already cornered.” 

“Yeah,” Matt pipes in, a smug look on his face. “You didn’t really think  _ I  _ was waiting around here to work, did you?” 

He’d been ganged up on, and all he can do is drop his jaw at the mutiny. 

“Look.” Shiro holds up his hands in surrender. “I appreciate the thought, but--” 

Pidge isn’t having his sidestepping. “But nothing, Mister. I’m tired of Matt calling me to talk about how glum you look all the time. We’re going. All  _ three  _ of us. It won’t even be a big deal, just a bar…” she trails off before muttering, “with a couple of my friends.” 

“A couple friends,” Shiro repeats, leveling his stare with Pidge’s.

“From school.” 

“ _ College  _ friends.” 

“Shiro, c’mon, you’re not  _ that  _ old! Just get the hell up, we only have two and a half hours to drink away our year’s worth of sorrows.” 

Matt stands, cracking his back. “Amen to that, sister. We all have enough of them.” 

“You can say that again,” Shiro says. The invitation sits in the silence that spans only briefly, but enough time for Shiro to feel its weight in his chest. He’s reluctant. Going out means he definitely won’t have any time for a somber ringing in of the new year alone in an office with lights that shut off after twenty minutes from inactivity. He doesn’t like to say he’s the mayor of Pity City, occupation one, but there was a certain comfort in the safety of feeling sorry for oneself. Matt and Pidge’s eyes are on him. Shiro stands up and says, “Alright, alright. I’m in.”

* * *

The bar isn’t as rowdy as Shiro had been expecting (dreading), which allows him to wring a bit of the nerves out of his hands. The place is more along the lines of a pub. Pidge leads him and Matt to a large table in the back corner where one big guy is waving enthusiastically, another is trying to balance a fork in between his upper lip and nose while making eyes at a giggling waitress, and the third is…

Beautiful. 

Shiro feels his saliva catch in the back of his throat as he takes in the man’s appearance. Jet black hair falling in disarray around eyes that rivaled any galaxy in the universe. He’s leaning his chin in his hand and only after appreciating the slender curve of his neck does Shiro realize he’s staring right at him. 

Immediately, his heartbeat sounds the alarm, Shiro looks away. 

“Shiro,” Pidge breaks the silence, gesturing to the three. “This is Hunk, Lance, and Keith.” 

Keith. 

Shiro takes a seat at the end of the curved booth, across from the person he’s too embarrassed to make eye contact with. Unfortunately for his shots of ducking out of that one unnoticed, Keith speaks to him. 

“Let me guess,” he says with a voice like smooth velvet. “You don’t get out much?” 

Shiro swings his eyes up as he responds. “What makes you say that?” 

“You look nervous.”

“Just need a drink.”

The guy who’d previously been holding the spoon, Lance, perks up at the comment. “I hear that, buddy.” He swishes around clacking ice cubes in his empty glass until Keith’s eye twitches in what Shiro thinks is irritation. Lance raises his hand up to another passing waitress to get her attention, and the second she stops by their table, her eyes land directly on Shiro. 

“Well, what can I get you, Handsome?” 

“I’ll take a scotch,” Shiro pauses. “A double, actually.” 

“I’ll have a Bourbon Sweetheart,” Lance says as he winks at her. “ _ Sweetheart _ .”

The woman orients her body towards Shiro and reaches to place a hand on his shoulder. “Is there anything else I can get  _ you _ ?” 

The touch and tone of her voice sit oddly with him, he shifts his body out from under her hand and says, “Just the scotch.” 

He pretends not to notice the way her face falls when she walks away from him. Before he can get caught up in thought over it, however, Keith’s low whistle makes him look over. 

“Think you just blew your chance at a New Year’s kiss.” Keith flicks a balled up straw wrapper in Shiro’s direction. 

At first, he doesn’t know how to answer, doesn’t know just how truthful he’s letting himself be yet. For now, he’s peering over the edge. Once he topples over, Shiro knows he’s done for. His answer is the easy way out. 

“She’s not my type.” 

Keith responds without missing a beat when he says, “What is?” 

* * *

Shiro is three drinks in when the clock reads 11:30 PM, and by this time not only is he effectively tipsy, but Keith is sitting beside him. The others are meandering in different places: Matt and Lance are scouting out potential ‘kiss candidates’ to see who can woo the fastest, and Pidge and Hunk are fawning over the fact that a man across the room has a small personal robot he built by hand.

Shiro’s nervousness seems to slip out the window as smoothly as his last drink went down, and he already has another before him. 

“So,” Keith says, leaning his jaw in his hand and staring up at Shiro from under a canopy of sinful lashes. “You’re really a rocket scientist?”

“Aerospace engineer,” Shiro sofly corrects, though he’s smiling. 

“Impressive. Why wasn’t that your opener?”

“I guess I’m not looking to impress anyone.” He laughs on the tail end of it, but it isn’t entirely true. Thought within the privacy of his mind, Shiro wants to remain interesting enough to hold Keith’s attention, even if he has absolutely no idea what to do with it. 

“Not even to get a wife?” Keith says it so casually that Shiro almost misses the genuine curiosity in his stare. He waggles his fingers in front of Shiro’s face. “Left ring fingers are one of the first things I notice.”

It’s the alcohol that let’s the truth fall from Shiro’s lips. “If I was, I’d be on the road to a new occupation of Serial Divorcer.” 

Keith whistles low under his breath once more. “Baggage. She wasn’t your type either?” 

Shiro locks his eyes with Keith and says, “No.” 

“I think I know what might be.” Keith’s voice is pitched lower, a seductive whisper that catches Shiro off guard and has him steeling his face, gritting his jaw. Keith shifts closer to him and places a hand on his upper thigh just out of sight beneath the lip of the table. Unlike with the waitress’ hand, Shiro doesn’t move away. 

“You’re really confident.” Shiro may not be moving, but he isn’t giving an inch yet either. This territory is uncharted for him, and in the back of his mind he remembers where Pidge met Keith. College. Keith is a college student. It should be off-limits, not unmapped. 

Keith moves his hand up to grip the front of Shiro’s jeans, earning a soft grunt. “Actually, I’m just working my way to strategically propositioning you.”

“You’re certainly working something…” Shiro swallows thickly, unable to stop his hips from pressing up into Keith’s hand.

“I can take care of it for you, Shiro. But you’ll have to do something for me.”

Shiro finds it difficult to keep his head from swimming with Keith applying pressure  _ just right.  _ Though he suspects that’s the point. “What’s that?” he says as his brain begins to supply vivid imagery of every possibility under the sun. He feels his dick swell in his slacks.

“Well, my classes don’t pay for themselves…”

What?

When Keith reaches for his zipper, Shiro finally finds the wherewithal to grip his wrist and halt the motion. The topic of compensation sits unprocessed in Shiro’s mind. “Keith,” he says around an exhale of breath. “I’m pretty sure I’m a bit too old for you.”  _ You’re too young,  _ is what he should say, but for some reason, Shiro leaves the ball in Keith’s court. 

“Hot, loaded,  _ and  _ wholesome. Your ex lost the jackpot with you.” Keith leans closer, his lips ghosting Shiro’s jugular. “What’s the number, thirty-two?” 

“Thirty-four.” 

“Close enough.” Keith may have forsaken his assault on Shiro’s zipper, but his hand still manages to squeeze despite Shiro’s grip on Keith’s wrist. Shiro can’t tell if the vice is turning into encouragement rather than an attempt at deterring. 

“How old are you?” 

“Over eighteen.” 

Shiro begins to pull away. “Keith--” 

“I’m twenty-three.” 

“Jesus Christ…”

Keith moves back, though not far enough that their breath isn’t still intertwined. Shiro realizes he should have been concerned at anyone seeing their display. When Keith speaks, there’s this analytical look to his eyes that Shiro can’t place. “No way I was totally off the mark with you. Are you really not into this?” 

Shiro stares at him, dumbfounded. 

“That depends on which mark you’re talking about.” He considers omitting an answer to the second half, but his brain is fuzzy and loose-lips have always been his achilles when he’s drunk. “I, uh, didn’t say that.” 

“Oh my god,” Keith says seemingly more to himself than to Shiro. “I totally thought--  _ y’know _ . You have the whole businessman look going on, rich, beats around the bush about not being into women? It’s textbook.” 

“I guess I’m under-read,” is really the only thing Shiro can manage, especially when there’s the threat of a blush on his cheeks at Keith’s comment about women. 

“Look, forget I said it, okay?” 

“Can you not afford your tuition?” The mood is turning all wrong, but Shiro can’t help the concern that seeps into his voice. He’s still half hard and awkwardness is settling around them like a dense fog, but the thought of the world’s shitty economy depriving another smart young person out of a college education is enough to make him press on. 

Keith laughs like Shiro just made the world’s greatest joke. “More like that’s how I afford it.” 

“By…?” There’s a word on the tip of his tongue. But there’s not a cell stupid enough in Shiro’s body to think he’d be able to salvage this if he tossed out the term ‘prostitute’.

“By ‘being a whore’? No. Well, kinda. I guess it’s more long term than that. Typically I only sleep with three or four men at a time, it depends on how much they want to pay me a month. But I found out two of them were married last week, and the last one stopped calling me, so, I’m on the market.” Keith isn’t looking at Shiro as he talks, just swirling his straw around in his drink before knocking it back. 

“I’ve never…” Shiro finds himself struggling to say. He doesn’t know where he’s going with this. Doesn’t know what to make of the B-line this night took. The alcohol is helping, he thinks, and so are Keith’s eyes. “With a man, I mean. Don’t judge me but, I’m the stereotypical ‘hides in the closet through marriage and being a workaholic’.” 

“I just told you I’m a sugar baby for a living and you think  _ I’m  _ gonna judge you?” Keith laughs.

Shiro thinks he’d be able to listen to it forever. They’re staring at each other again. 

“Suppose not.” 

There’s a few beats where neither of them move, and Shiro swears he can hear his heartbeat in his ears. When Keith shifts towards him again, Shiro stares at his lips. 

“What if,” Keith starts, slowly letting his fingers trail back up Shiro’s thigh. “I give you a taste of how good of an investment I’d be, and then you can turn me down for real?” 

“Like a free trial?” 

“One that doesn’t even need an email address.” 

The clock reads 11:39 PM. 

“That’s generous.” 

Keith’s hand is working at the front of Shiro’s slacks again, and this time, Shiro doesn’t stop him. Instead, he grips Keith’s jaw to force eye contact and lets his lips fall open as shallow pants leave him. 

“Is that a yes?” There’s a smirk to Keith’s eyes when he asks, and Shiro knows this is the last opportunity to do the responsible thing and excuse himself from the table. The only problem is he can’t seem to get his body on board with the logical parts of his brain. 

“Not here,” Shiro says. 

“Duh. Take me home.” 

“We’ll have to get a cab.” 

“Good, I’ll have time to blow you before we get to your house.” 

“Fuck, Keith…”

“Yeah, that’s kinda the idea.” 

* * *

The cab ride makes it seem like the city is swirling by them in tandem with the spinning Shiro’s head’s doing as he lulls it against the back seat. Keith is giggling in his ear and saying things like “Can’t hold your liquor, Old Man?”

Truth be told, Shiro has never been a big drinker. He doesn’t say that out loud, and instead grips Keith by his hip to pull him closer in a straddling position. Their taxi cabby grumbles something about seat belts, but puts the middle divider up nonetheless. It feels like a fever dream to Shiro who had assumed he’d be spending the night alone. 

“You still with me?” Keith asks, kissing along Shiro’s jaw line down to his neck. His hips grind down against Shiro’s and cause them both to groan. 

“I’m here…” Shiro bucks upwards deliberately and the sound that drips from Keith’s lips is an oasis in the desert.

“Good,” is all Keith says before he moves backwards from where he was previously sucking a mark into the side of Shiro’s neck. Sliding his hands lower, Keith yanks Shiro’s zipper down in clumsy drunken jerks, almost catching it on the fabric twice before finally getting the desired result. 

Shiro’s mind barely has the time to comprehend the fact that his dick is being gripped before Keith is closing his lips around the head of him and humming in satisfaction that’s gotta be more for Shiro’s benefit than his own. 

For a second, he thinks he’ll lose it the moment he feels Keith’s tongue swirl and lap at his sensitive underside, but somehow gets a grip on himself. It’s all happening quickly and there’s a part of Shiro wanting to slow down, to let every touch and caress soak in and overtake everything his imagination has supplied him with for years. 

Yeah, Keith’s mouth feels a hell of a lot better than anything Shiro’s dreamed up. 

With trembling fingers, Shiro cards into Keith’s hair, soft spoken words tumbling out of his mouth like prayers to a God. 

“Right there,” Shiro whispers. “Good boy.” 

Keith’s subsequent moan reverberates over Shiro’s skin, and the grip on his thigh becomes harsh. In the foggy depths of his mind, Shiro still manages to put two and two together on that one. He continues speaking since Keith’s obviously learned not to talk with his mouth full. 

“You like that?” Shiro’s gentle hand in Keith’s hair turns into a vice, clutching the tresses and coaxing Keith down farther. The moment those beautiful purple eyes with lust-blown pupils turn up to him, Shiro can’t hold back the buck to his hips. For a split second, he worries whether or not he’s being too rough.

When Keith pulls off of him with a curse under his breath, that fear is almost solidified. But Keith grabs Shiro’s palm, presses it against the front of his jeans and ruts against it with a  _ whine _ . 

“Shiro, fuck… You can’t talk to me like that unless your dick’s inside me.” 

“I think there’s some legalities against sex in a public taxi.” 

Keith seems like he’s too horny for jokes because he makes a sound of frustration and turns to bang his fist against the backseat divider. 

“Hurry up, I’m gonna die back here!” 

“You’re gonna get me arrested,” Shiro says as he leans closer to mouth at Keith’s exposed throat. His dick is still laying hard and slick with Keith’s saliva against his thigh. 

The car comes to a stop, conveniently, only a minute later, and Shiro struggles with stuffing his turgid  _ issue  _ back into his pants before Keith is practically dragging him out of the vehicle. 

They can’t seem to get into his house fast enough. 

“Holy shit,” Keith says upon entry, looking around and swaying in his step. “This place is huge.” 

In reality, it wasn’t. Or, at least Shiro didn’t think so. He was proud of his home but a two story, four bedroom wasn’t exactly a mansion. Not that he cared to clarify. 

“Do you want a tour?” There’s a certain smirk on his lips when he says it. 

“Of your bedroom,” Keith counters, closing the gap between them and wrapping his arms around Shiro’s neck. 

“I can arrange that.” Shiro knows with no room for uncertainty that he’s showing off when he scoops Keith up by the backs of his thighs and carries him effortlessly up the stairs to his room. 

The moment Keith’s back hits the bed, he looks up at Shiro from beneath those lashes, the moonlight swathing him and making him look utterly luminous. Something in Shiro cracks open at the sight, like a chamber of himself that he’s kept locked away is finally open and yearning for everything it’s missed. 

When they fuck, it’s euphoric. 

Shiro chalks some of it up to the alcohol but most of it is Keith. The way Keith’s body takes him in and tightens around him, urging Shiro closer, harder, faster,  _ more.  _ It takes all of his energy to keep himself in just enough check that he doesn’t hurt the beautiful boy beneath him. 

Keith, apparently, is trying to break him. 

“Cmon, Shiro,” he urges, hands tangled up in sheets, his chest pressed against the mattress as he moves his hips back urgently. “I can take it, give me more.”

Shiro doesn’t doubt him, maybe he doubts himself. Maybe his entire life he’s always had to be careful and calculated and now he truly doesn’t understand the concept of letting go, of giving in. But he wants to, oh god does he want to. He lets his teeth sink into Keith’s shoulder, wracking a sound from him that has his own dick throbbing in Keith’s ass.

“Tell me if I hurt you.”

Keith’s nodding his head almost violently before he finds his voice on a hoarse groan. “Roger, roger. Just  _ fuck me. _ ” 

Shiro can’t say no to that if he tries. 

He flips them over, gripping just under Keith’s knee and hiking his leg against his beautiful pale chest flushed in scarlet, and fucks into him once more. Giving Keith exactly what he wants is like taking a muzzle off. 

Shiro moves his hips faster, angles them to slam against Keith’s prostate with each thrust, and reveling in the keens and sounds it’s milking from him. For a scrappy, no holds barred guy like Keith to be reduced to a whimpering mess on Shiro’s cock does something for his ego that he can’t quite place but damn if it isn’t gonna make him come harder than he has in years. 

“Shit, Keith, I’m…” He doesn’t want to come first, but his orgasm is coiling in his belly like a hot spring and there’s only so much self control one guy can have. Shiro’s panting open-mouthed, leaving a battleground of purple marks across Keith’s collar bone and jugular. 

“Me too...Don’t fucking stop.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it. You feel…  _ god,  _ you feel incredible. So tight on my dick, so  _ good  _ for me, Keith...” Shiro can’t stop himself from talking, but Keith is eating it up. Their breaths are falling harder, chest rising and fingers grappling to find purchase on sweat-slicked skin. 

“Gonna--” Keith’s voice is cut off by a groan as he comes between them, and the sight of his swollen, flushed dick spilling milky fluid between their bodies is enough to send Shiro over the edge. 

“ _ Yes…”  _ Shiro yanks Keith even closer, driving into him until the coil breaks, until he’s filling Keith to the brim with his release for what seems like forever. He rides out his orgasm before collapsing to the side, half on top of Keith and have next to him. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of their panting in the room, slowly beginning to even out. 

Shiro feels sleep beckoning him down like a second round of seduction when Keith’s low, fucked-out voice brings him back to the present. 

“Happy New Year,” he says, shifting slightly and giggling. 

“Happy New Year.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you know those times where you want everything to be fine but you end up hurting yourself instead? That was me writing this chapter.

_ I'm here to collect your hearts, _

_ It's the only reason that I sing _

_ I don't believe a word you say, _

_ But I can't stop listening. _

_ “Where Did The Party Go?” Fall Out Boy _

 

“So, did you guys fuck, or..?” 

Keith promptly chokes on his canned coffee at Pidge’s question, spurting the coveted caffeine all over his chin and calc study guides. It isn’t the topic of sex that catches him off guard, hell no. It’s the fact that it was coming so candidly from Pidge. Keith guesses he shouldn’t be surprised. Pidge has an extremely matter-of-fact way about her, in the way that embarrassment isn’t really factor as long as it doesn’t directly involve her. 

Keith makes a wet halo on his dining table when he sets the can down. “What if I said no, that we just had a stimulating philosophical discussion?” 

“Oh, I bet it was  _ stimulating. _ ” She waggles an eyebrow at a confused Keith. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

When Pidge does nothing but openly gawk at him, Keith figures it’s a joke of some sort.

“You’re kidding. How are you still so dense?” 

Keith shrugs his shoulders, grabbing the pencil characterized by teeth marks and chipped paint from its place behind his ear, and starts scribbling more notes for a math he can’t stand. He’d prefer anything to calculus by a long shot. “In any case, does it matter? It’s gonna be a one time deal.” 

“How do you know? Shiro’s a big fan of seventies styles.” 

The pencil gets sets down once more. “Okay, what is  _ that  _ supposed to mean?”

Pidge smiles wolfishly at him, leaning forward from her criss-cross-applesauce position on a chair to tug on a lock of black hair. “Mullets.” 

He swats her hand away but there’s a distinct smile on his lips. “Wow, gutted.” 

“What can I say?” She turns her palms up to the sky, a smug offering. “I’m ruthless.” Pause. “ _ And  _ I’m not going to fall for you avoiding my questions, so, spit it out.” 

“I’m more of a swallower.” 

The face Pidge makes could curdle milk. “I know. Lance told me.” 

“That was one time! Do you even know how drunk I was?” 

“Apparently not so drunk that you couldn’t give a blow job.” 

Well, no shit. People don’t just  _ forget  _ their past times. “That was the night I sang ‘Benny And The Jets’ to Hunk before I realized I was serenading Lance’s fridge.” 

“Still the best snapchat story I’ve ever had the pleasure of making.” 

“ _ Anyways,  _ Lance’s and Shiro’s dicks aside, New Year’s was an isolated incident.”

“So you guys  _ did  _ have sex.” 

Keith sighs. At this rate, he’ll never finish his study guide and he’ll never be ready for his final. Taking calc over winter break was a terrible idea from the start, but he’d thought getting a high level math out of the way so it didn’t impede on his spring semester would be worth it. With Pidge insistent on discussing his one-night stands, he isn’t so sure now.

“Yeah, we did.” 

“And?” 

“ _ And,  _ it was… good.” It isn’t like Keith is about to lie. Sex with Shiro had been like a fever dream where all the shit you couldn’t possibly imagine happening to you, happens. He knew what to say, where to touch, and just the notion that Shiro had never been with a man before gave Keith an ego trip that went straight to his dick. 

“Then why do you think it’ll only be a one timer?” 

Keith didn’t exactly keep his side profession a secret, but he also didn’t talk about it directly. He supposed he could just tell Pidge he didn’t think Shiro was the type of guy to pay someone for sex, especially on the regular. Not to mention Shiro would never  _ need  _ to. Hell, Keith had slept with him for free, and that was numero uno on his list of Do Not Do.

“I just don’t think he’s that kind of guy.” Keith guzzles down more coffee. 

“Are you kidding me? Shiro looks like he fell out of the front page of Sugar Daddy Weekly.” 

Again, Keith spits his drink. 

“What,” she says, adjusting her glasses and putting that smirk back into place. “You didn’t seriously think I didn’t know, did you?” 

“I, uh…” Yeah, he wants to say. That’s exactly what he thought. 

Pidge rolls her eyes. “Look, I’m not judging you. All I’m saying is Shiro is a good guy. Like, really good. And his life has been shit for a while. So I thought, what’s there to lose? He’s rich, he’s smart, and he was so far in the closet I was pretty sure he’d come out with Turkish Delights.” 

“Oh my god,” Keith starts. “You set us up.”

“Guilty.” She smiles. “So, did you at least get his number?”

“No.” Keith holds up his hands in surrender before Pidge can call him any of the names she’s no doubt planning. “But, I gave him mine. I left a note with it next to his bed before I bailed. So if he wants something, he can ask for it.”

“Well,” Pidge says on an exhale. She leans back in the wooden chair that definitely isn’t meant for acrobatics, and kicks her feet up onto the dining table. “Guess we just have to hope that he isn’t as stubborn as you are.”

Keith doesn’t roll his eyes, he just sends them up into the heavens. “Don’t hold your breath.” 

Jarring them both out of their conversation that had successfully distracted Keith from his homework, Keith’s phone rings. Lana Del Ray’s ‘Serial Killer’ calls out to him as the device vibrates and lights up on the table. The ringtone causes Keith to frown, weight settling in his stomach that gives way to anxiety. 

It’s Lotor. 

Keith picks up at the tail end. “Hello?” Typically, he’d answer in a much more seductive manner. But like he’d mentioned to Shiro almost a week ago now, he’d been seeing three men previously. One, a ridiculously large man named Sendak, had turned out to be married. The same thing could be said for the second, an older man named Kolivan. But the third, who had dropped off the map for all intents and purposes, was Lotor. 

“I expected you to sound a bit more pleased to hear from me, Kitten.”

Keith used to like that pet name. Why did it feel so weird now? Almost dirty. In his peripheral, Pidge’s brows fight to surpass her hairline. “I’m gonna be honest, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you at all.” 

“Oh, come. As if I could simply forget about you.”

“Could’a fooled me.” Talking to Lotor with the bite in his voice that Keith typically spares his clients, it makes him anxious. 

“Now, Keith,” Lotor begins, voice losing its subtle playfulness. “Where are your manners?” 

Keith has a choice to make in this moment. He can tell Lotor to fuck off, which he feels inclined to do. Or, he can apologize, which his pride will never forgive him for. The thing is, it isn’t a decision at all. Not really. One of them robs Keith the certainty of dinner on the table, and one doesn’t. This is his job, he reminds himself. 

And Shiro was never a guarantee. 

“I’m sorry,” he begins. “I’m cranky today.” Having Pidge hear him submit is like smearing salt in his wounded ego. He doesn’t look over at her. 

“Forgiven. I enjoy your feistiness, in any case.” Lotor pauses for a moment. “I’m, unfortunately, going to be tethered to my office rather late tonight. I’d love a good decompression after it. Can you be free around ten thirty?” Though it’s phrased as a question, Keith knows he’s expected to say yes. And, of course, his wallet expects the same of him. 

“That  _ is  _ kinda late…” It’s all in the tone. Keith plays the game to ensure he’s not stepping into territory without an affirmation of cash on the other side of the bargain.

Lotor laughs into the receiver, it’s husky with an air of condescension. “You know full well I’ll make it worth your while.” 

Despite the unsettling feeling making itself a nest in Keith’s stomach, he smirks. “That’s one of the reasons I’m agreeing. See you then.” 

“I shall be counting the moments.” 

When Keith hangs up, he can feel Pidge’s gaze on him, and despite the fact that he assumes she won’t tease him about this, his defenses flare. “What?” he says in her direction with a bit more bark than bite. 

“Nothin’, I’m not saying anything.” 

“You’re thinking it.” 

“Thinking what?”

Keith sighs, runs a hand over his face. “Forget it.” 

Pidge places a hand on his shoulder. “I told you, Keith. I’m not gonna judge you. I mean it.” For a second, Keith thinks the conversation will end there. It doesn’t. “However, I will judge any crusty ass guy who treats you like a dog.” 

Kitten, Keith’s mind supplies for him. But that’s beside the point. 

“Lotor isn’t crusty.” There’s a smirk in his voice when he says it, and an almost tangible question mark in his mind as to why the hell he’s defending the man. “He’s actually hot, just an asshole.” 

“You know who’s one of those things but not the other?” 

“Here we go. I told you, I gave Shiro my number. It’s not my fault if he doesn’t use it--” Keith holds up a finger, signaling to a raring-to-go Pidge that he isn’t finished. “ _ And  _ I’m not anyone’s baggage trolley. If Shiro has a bunch of skeletons in his closet next to himself, it’s not my job to Mary Poppins his ass with a spoonful of gay experience.” 

“That certainly was a sentence you just said.” 

“I mean it, Pidge. I can’t be a therapist or anything like that. And Shiro could barely put aside his moral compass to fuck me. I don’t think he’s in the market for anything serious. Neither am I, by the way. In case you forgot, I have rent to pay.”

“Alright, alright, I get it.” Pidge looks at Keith and her eyes say she gets it for all the wrong reasons. Keith’s skin feels tight. He hates this: discussing matters that pertain to his unwillingness to be emotionally invested in anything, anyone. Even if Pidge is, hands down, the closest friend he has. It’ll never be easy. But he guesses that comes with the territory of growing up without a family. Unfortunately, Pidge continues. “I just worry about you, okay?” Her voice sounds softer. Keith hates himself for feeling irritated. “When it comes to barriers against commitment you’re like the Great Wall of China. I just want you to have someone who’s there for you.” 

“You’re there for me.” And he means it, he really does. It isn’t in the way Pidge is implying, of course not. They’ve never even had a shred of thoughts towards their friendship being anything but platonic. But it’s a comfort level Keith doesn’t really have with anyone else. Especially sans liquid courage. 

Pidge’s face falls into this smile that tinges her eyes in what almost looks like sadness. “And you know I’m always gonna be.” 

Keith reaches over to rustle her hair. “Duh. Even when you stop me from getting any homework done.” 

 

* * *

 

It’s a few hours later when Keith notices his eyes are burning from staring at equations that take him ten years to read, let alone solve. Pidge’s absence may have brought focus back into his day where curriculum is concerned, but as he stares up at his ceiling, his apartment feels too empty. Lonely, even. 

Keith gets up, intending to grab a wine cooler from the fridge like the classy guy he is, when his phone  _ dings  _ once, then twice, signaling a text. Against the logical advice his brain is giving him, Keith’s heart skips a beat. It isn’t like he has his hopes up. There’s nothing to look forward to. 

He gets up to grab the drink after a suspicious side glance at his phone. 

Keith doesn’t know how hard Mike used to be, but the ‘hard _ er _ ’ formula definitely seems to be taking it one notch too high. No wine cooler should be twelve percent alcohol. Still, Keith cracks open the can of  _ Orange Citrus Punch _ , which does, in fact, seem to punch his throat. But the burn isn’t unwanted, though he makes a face like it is. 

His phone is a daunting piece of tech that stares at him from the coffee table as Keith walks over. Picking it up, the screen illuminates with a text from a number he doesn’t recognize, and when Keith unlocks the screen, his can of Mike’s slips an inch in his grasp.

It’s because of the condensation, he tells himself. And not because the text is from Shiro. 

Definitely not. 

[ _ received. 5:42pm _ ] _ Hey, Keith. This is Shiro. I hope I’m not bothering you. Are you busy?  _

Of course Shiro would use proper punctuation in a text. Keith can’t help but smile. 

[ _ sent. 5:46pm _ ]  _ not too busy for u, Space Man ;) what’s up? _

Keith immediately feels cringy for calling Shiro that, and he runs a hand over his face. It was the first thing that came to his mind. If Keith knew Shiro better, he would have made a comment about not expecting Shiro to have texted him at all, but didn’t want to take the chance of making him regret it. 

[ _ received. 5:47pm _ ]  _ That’s Dr. Space Man to you.  _

[ _ received. 5:47pm _ ]  _ I was wondering if you’d let me cook you dinner?  _

Keith frowns. He doesn’t like it when potential clients try to beat around the sex bush, it complicates things, makes them feel like less of a transaction. There’s comfort in the lack of intimacy for Keith. 

[ _ sent. 5:49pm _ ]  _ food play? and to think, i thought you’d be vanilla. _

[ _ received. 5:50pm _ ]  _ Call it dinner with benefits.  _

[ _ sent 5:51pm _ ]  _ what time? I have an appointment at 10:30 _

For some reason, Keith’s lips fall from their previous smile, a slight twisting in his gut pulls his brows together. Will Shiro still want to see him knowing he’ll be in another man’s bed within a few hours? He doesn’t know. But, Keith reminds himself, it isn’t like it’s any of Shiro’s business. 

Shiro, as upstanding as Keith assumed him to be, doesn’t mention it. 

[ _ received. 5:52pm _ ]  _ How does 7 sound? Too soon?  _

[ _ sent. 5:53pm _ ]  _ nah, I’ll see you then. address?  _

Keith mentally thanks himself for showering after Pidge left instead of having to worry about wasting more time between here and Shiro’s. The place is close to half an hour away from him as it is, far enough to not just be considering the ‘other side of the tracks’ but the other side of the universe. Keith’s dilapidated one bedroom that doesn’t even have a working garbage disposal isn’t even on the same planet as Shiro’s two story slice of picket fence. 

He gives himself a once over in the mirror of his closet door. More than likely, he’ll be leaving directly from Shiro’s to Lotor’s, so he’ll need to be dressed for both occasions. 

Keith decides to be extra and fucky as all hell. 

He pours himself into black skinny jeans with rips in the knees and over the thighs. Keith may not have much of an ass, but the pants make him look fuckable in ways he didn’t think possible. He adds a red crop top to the mix, one that’s slouchy and falls off one of his shoulders. Because he’s clearly a slut for red, Keith grabs his pair of Adidas high-tops from the pile of different shoes for different occasions and socks that haven’t been washed in weeks. To top off the look, he heads to the bathroom where a black leather choker and eyeliner are waiting for him. 

Looking like this, Keith can push away all heaviness from his thoughts. There’s no stress over homework, no worrying about bills, or the fact that he seems to have the emotional capability of a rock who can’t even stay committed to the ground it sits on. 

No, like this, he’s in complete control.

 

* * *

 

 

Shiro’s house is more impressive when Keith sees it sober. 

He stands there for a few seconds longer than necessary, gazing upon the fruits of capitalism at its finest. No matter how many dicks he sucks, Keith knows he’ll never end up in a place like this. 

But that’s the luck of the draw, and he just happened to pull the Five of Pentacles from the Tarot deck of life. 

When he knocks on the door, Keith does his best to even out his breathing. But the second Shiro opens the door, that goes right out the window. Jesus, Keith forgot how fucking beautiful he was. 

“Hey,” Shiro says, eyes raking up and down, and Keith’s ego preens at the implication. 

Keith tilts his head and smiles. “Hey, you gonna let me in?” 

“Oh, yeah, of course.” Shiro steps out of the way and Keith wastes no time coming in. He kicks off his shoes and looks around. 

“So, this is what your place looks like.” 

“You’ve seen my house before.” Shiro’s voice is closer, deep and with amusement tinging its edges. Keith glances over his shoulder with a wink. 

“I was a little preoccupied last time.” 

And god have fucking mercy, Shiro’s cheeks flush at the comment. 

“Dinner’s almost ready,” he says quickly, a little too quickly, rubbing a hand over his cheeks. Trying to make the color go down? Cute. So cute, in fact that Keith just stares at him for half a minute before Shiro notices and smiles. “What’s that look for?” 

“What look?” Keith continues into the kitchen and takes a seat at one of Shiro’s barstools. The man has a setup out of a cooking show. He puts his elbows on an island with glossy black countertops that look like they’ve captured an entire universe inside of them. He runs a finger over the swirling, glittering surface inlaid with gemstones. Shiro sets a drink down in front of him.

“It’s black marble with blue quartz. You like it?” 

“You really do love space, huh?” Keith looks up at him, holding Shiro’s eyes. 

“Yeah, I do.” 

It’s in the earnesty of Shiro’s reply that Keith feels is endearing.

“It’s impressive.” 

Shiro snorts, picking up a spatula and attending to something simmering on the stove. It smells like tomatoes and herbs with a depth of flavor Keith can’t place. “What, that I’m a science nerd through and through?” 

“That you actually care about your job.” Keith clarifies, then shrugs. “Most of the time, it’s the same old routine for people. They wake up, and hate it. They get to work, and hate it. They get home, and they hate that too for not having enough time or energy to do anything else. Rinse and repeat. Seems like all there is sometimes.” 

“For accountants, maybe.” 

Keith snorts. “I see the pretension of a STEM major never really leaves.” 

“Of course not. I’m hard-wired to believe my formulas that’ll put us on Mars are more dire than whatever combination of paint i’d need to pull off the planet’s color. Also that I’d prefer to make money than learn how to manage it for others.” 

“You may be hard-wired, but are you convinced?” Keith leans forward, red fabric of his crop top slipping farther down his left shoulder. 

“Don’t I sound convincing?” he says, eyes drifting over Keith’s newly exposed skin.

“Maybe to someone who wasn’t paying attention.” 

Shiro laughs and shakes his head, tending to his sauce. He rubs a hand over his chin thoughtfully. “Most of the time, people aren’t.” 

Keith resists the ultimate cliche of saying he isn’t like most people, and instead hums in response. “So, what are you making?”

Shiro waggles the fingers of his free hand over the skillet as he stirs. “A concoction that’s been in my family for generations. With eye of newt, blood of goat, and tail of toad.” 

The sip Keith snorts bubbles into his drink with a laugh. “Toads don’t have tails.” 

“They don’t?” Shiro says, but he’s smiling too. 

“No.” Keith’s eyes are sparkling up at him.

“You caught me. I’m making spaghetti.” 

“Fancy.” In actuality, spaghetti is one of Keith’s favorite foods. Best only the day after it’s made, nice and cold from the fridge. But he keeps that part to himself.

Shiro looks good cooking. Like, way too good. The definition of his arms is only accentuated when he’s handling a saucepan full of food. Or, maybe Keith is just really thirsty. But, there’s nothing wrong with staring. He isn’t here just to eat, after all. 

Dinner, somehow, is finished without much further ado, despite the fact that Keith continues to ask small questions about his technique, and tease Shiro when steam from the noodles covers his face in a layer of wet. Shiro is a gentleman through it all, even as they eat, to the point where Keith begins to wonder if the man realizes what this outfit is intended to do to him. 

They’re seated on a couch in Shiro’s backyard soon after, drinks in hand and smiles on their faces. Keith knocks his knee against Shiro’s and pretends it wasn’t intentional, pretends he isn’t anticipating Shiro fucking him into the mattress like before. Maybe this time, he muses, they won’t even make it to the bed. Keith has never had public sex before. But do backyards count as public? He isn’t sure. All he knows is he’d have absolutely no reservations about Shiro plowing him under the stars.

“I didn’t ask you before,” Shiro starts, getting up from his seat to start the fire pit in front of them. “What are you studying?” 

Keith isn’t used to talking about himself. “It’s nothing impressive.” He watches Shiro bend down, stoking the flames and shoving crumpled newspaper amongst some logs. 

“Don’t sell yourself short, Keith. If it holds your attention, I’m sure it’s worthwhile.” 

_ Nothing compared to an aerospace engineer.  _ Keith wants to say, but for some reason feels that Shiro won’t fall for distraction via boosted ego. “Modern lit.” 

“Really?”

Keith can’t tell if Shiro sounds surprised, impressed, or maybe a little of both. He hopes it’s the latter. Still, he fights a blush from blossoming onto his cheeks, choosing instead of fidget with a stray thread of his pants and take a swig of his drink. 

“Yeah, it kinda stuck out to me.” 

Shiro sits back down, orienting his body to give Keith one hundred percent of his attention. With the fire flickering in the background, prisms and flashes of light lick at Shiro’s features, contouring them. It gives his attractiveness seemingly an entire new dimension, and the way it dances off his stormy eyes has Keith’s mouth drying up. 

“Why’s that?” Shiro asks him, voice a bit quieter. 

Keith looks away and recites a line from memory.  “Life is to be lived, not controlled; and humanity is won by continuing to play in face of certain defeat.”

“Ralph Ellison?” 

Keith looks back to him. “Yeah, you know it?” 

“Everyone who lives in America should read Invisible Man.”

Keith feels the same way, and so he nods along. “That’s what I love about literature. It’s not bogged down by dust and technical words like history books-- but it’s almost like they still  _ are  _ textbooks, you know? You read a literary work and you know more than just who beat who in whatever world war, you know how people  _ felt.  _ What drove them, or what they were driven to. It’s like, a historical account of what the world has done to all of us, and how we’ve coped and come out of it. It’s just--” He cuts himself off, suddenly self-conscious of the rant he’d subjected Shiro to. He wasn’t getting paid to wax poetic about books. “Sorry, I get riled up.” 

Shiro puts his hand just above Keith’s knee, gives him what feels like a split between an experimental and reassuring squeeze. “Don’t apologize. It’s just, what?” 

In the space between them, Keith’s breaths shorten, mingling with Shiro’s controlled and even ones. “It’s like exploring new universes.” 

“We share the same goal, then.” 

Keith leans forward with intention, his eyes drifting down to Shiro’s mouth. “Guess we do.” 

When their lips meet, Keith melds his against Shiro’s, reaching up to trail his fingers along the older man’s jaw and feeling a thrill at the slight stubble found there. He doesn’t realize just how much he wanted to do this again until now. Shiro’s lips part beneath his, an unstable shudder leaving in a heated puff against Keith’s tongue. 

Keith swings his leg over Shiro’s lap, straddling him and making the angle better for kissing, for pressing his hips down. He knows how to get his point across with body language. But Shiro reaches up too, gripping Keith’s wrist and pulls his hand away just enough to break contact. His lips, Keith realizes, are no longer responsive. 

“Keith,” he starts, and Keith pulls away. He knows that tone of voice. 

It’s rejection. 

A frown pulls his brows together and sends the corner of his mouth hunting for the floor. “What is it?” 

“I didn’t invite you here to have sex.” 

Keith leans back farther, clear confusion no doubt written across his face. He heard Shiro’s words, clear as day, but they don’t make any sense. If he didn’t want to fuck, why the hell did he tell Keith to come over in the first place?

“...Okay.” Keith says dumbly. Still, he circles his hips, feeling a slight bulge beneath him as he does so. “You sure about that?” 

Shiro shudders, his hands moving to Keith’s hips, imploring them to be still. “Yes… But I should have expected you to drive a hard bargain.” 

“I’ll leave the  _ hard  _ joke out of the equation, but just know it’s there.”

Shiro swallows, regains the small amount of composure he’d lost, and fixes Keith with a look that’s both intense and soft at the same time. Pulling it off should be an art, but Shiro seems to do it effortlessly. “I’m serious.”

Though he fights it, Keith feels irritation bubbling up inside of him. Uncertainty over where the conversation is heading and the fear of being vulnerable, of wanting something only to be told you aren’t wanted. Could Shiro have been planning on bringing Keith here, making him dinner, and asking about his educational career to, what? Try and convince him that he was better than a life of prostitution? He’d tell Shiro to eat a dick if that was the case. 

And it must be evident in the shift in Keith’s body, the tensing of his muscles and how he retracts his arms, tugging his wrist out of Shiro’s grasp. He’s closing off, shutting the door he’d begun to peek out of. “Why?” 

Shiro looks like he doesn’t quite know how to articulate his next words, and every second puts Keith closer to bolting. He shouldn’t drive, not yet, and he doesn’t have to be to Lotor’s for almost two hours. But he should at least be able to move his car down a few blocks, out of sight, then take a walk. Clearing his head would be nice. Right now it’s muddled, offended, and Shiro hasn’t even elaborated yet. 

“Hey, don’t shut me out,” Shiro says, moving his hand once against to rest on Keith’s leg. 

But Keith isn’t interested in trying to be coaxed. He moves off of Shiro’s lap, standing up and lifting his arms in a stretch that both cracks his back and shows off even more of his midriff. “Don’t assume I was letting you in.” The words sting his tongue, so he doesn’t look at Shiro when he says it. “Thanks for dinner,” he continues, and plans on walking inside, getting out the door, and not looking back. 

His wrist is grasped gently before he’s able to do any of it. “Keith, wait.”

Keith doesn’t pull his wrist away. “Then answer my question, Shiro.”

Shiro stands up, dwarfing Keith and bringing their faces close once more. More confusion. Keith can’t tell if this is a byproduct of Shiro stuffing his desires in one of those vacuum sealers and putting them on a closet shelf. “I didn’t want you think that I…” 

Keith rolls his eyes. “That you were, what? Using me for sex?” 

Shiro gives his answer by way of a pained facial expression. 

“Shiro, that’s literally my job. That’s exactly what I wanted from you.” 

“And I get that you think that’s fine-- Wait, that isn’t how I meant it--” 

“That I  _ think  _ it’s fine?” Keith was angry now. He wrenches his hand free from Shiro’s grasp. “Fuck you, Shiro.” 

“Keith, hang on a second, I didn’t mean--” 

But Keith doesn’t hear what he says next because he’s too busy storming inside. He should have anticipated this. There was no way a man like Shiro, performative het for his entire life to the point where he got  _ married _ , would be able to not only accept that he likes dick, but that he likes it enough to pay for it. And quite honestly? Keith didn’t need to explain himself to anyone, especially not a man that didn’t even fucking know him but wanted to play Dr. Phil with what was  _ best  _ for him. 

To hell with that. 

He makes it to the front door before Shiro catches up to him, clearly torn between wanting to stop Keith from leaving in an attempt to reconcile this, and realizing what it would look like to not allow Keith to walk out that door. Keith hopes the man gets too caught up in all of his moral dilemmas to follow him. 

Too bad for him, Shiro plants an open palm on the front door, close enough that Keith can feel the heat from the fire radiating off of him. “Keith please, give me a minute here.” He pauses. “If you really want to leave, of course I won’t try to stop you.” 

Keith turns, now caged by Shiro’s arm on one side, his back pressed against the door. He glares up at Shiro with fire in his eyes. “You brought me here to try and give me an ethics lesson on spreading my legs, and you thought I’d just, what? Feel ashamed and knock it off?” 

“No--” Shiro curses under his breath. “That isn’t what I meant. It came out wrong.”

“Most times that means it came out honest.” 

“ _ Dammit,  _ Keith. I’m trying to fix this.” 

“And what is this, Takashi?” The use of his first name catches Shiro off guard. Keith can tell in the way he tries to suppress a reaction that he hit a spot. A good spot. Keith gives a wicked smirk and lowers his voice, leaning up closer to Shiro. “You trying to convince yourself that you’re morally above wanting to fuck me into the nearest surface?”

“Keith…” Shiro’s voice is lower too. 

“Or, maybe you just think I’m a filthy whore that needs guidance. That I just don’t know any better. The only thing I know how to do is make cocks hard, and that I’ll never amount to anything at this rate.” 

“Now, that,” Shiro starts, matching Keith’s bait and pressing him back against the door. “Sounds like projecting.” 

Keith has never felt so pissed off and aroused at the same time. He twines his arms around Shiro’s neck, yanks him into a kiss that’s bruising. It’s all teeth and violent sparks and Shiro answers him in kind. Frustrated grunts and pants fill the air as Keith hooks his leg around Shiro’s waist. 

“Fuck,” Keith starts, tilting his head back to expose his neck as Shiro’s lips move down, leaving marks of mottled purple in their wake. 

“How do you get even sexier when you’re angry?” 

Keith digs his nails into Shiro’s shoulder and ruts against his thigh. “Same way you manage to be hot and an asshole at the same time.”

“Keith, I wasn’t trying to--” 

“Shut up.” Keith yanks Shiro’s face back up by his forelock of white, bites the man’s lower lip so hard he can taste the tang of blood and relishes in the groan Shiro gives in response. This is what he wants. No talking. No deciphering of feelings or life motives. Because that’s what fucking is, in its truest sense; mindless.

His hands leave their place where he’d anchored himself to Shiro, moving down over the expanse of the man’s chest, up under his shirt until Keith is abusing one of Shiro’s nipples in between his thumb and forefinger. 

Shiro’s voice is like an aphrodisiac directly to Keith’s dick. “Keith,” he says again, as if that’s all he can say. And Keith wants to go until he’s rendered speechless. 

“That’s right, Daddy.” Keith’s lips ghost over Shiro’s ear. He bites down, licks along the shell of it and with a palm pressed against the front of Shiro’s slacks, Keith can  _ feel  _ him twitch and pulse at the word. “Oh, you like that? Dirty. Maybe you aren’t vanilla like I thought.” 

Shiro  _ growls  _ in response, and Keith is already well on his way to giving the man something to go feral over. He deftly unbuckles Shiro’s pants, pulling the zipper down and his cock out, and damn, he’s already so hard. Just what about this situation is getting Shiro off the most, Keith can find out later. For now… 

His knees hit the floor so fast, Keith is sure they’ll be bruised the next day. But he doesn’t give a shit. He’s too busy gripping Shiro in his hand and letting hot breath fan over Shiro’s swollen head. The moment Keith presses the flat of his tongue to the velvety underside, Shiro grips his hair. 

“Don’t touch.” Keith manages to get out in a voice that holds more authority than he thought possible. Typically, he loves having his hair pulled. Not in the way that’s careless yanking, no, Keith loves it when strong fingers slide along his scalp before slowing closing into a fist in his hair, pulling until he’s rendered pliant beneath them. But today, right now? He doesn’t feel like relinquishing himself to Shiro. He’s still pissed, after all. And submission is a gift that must be earned. 

Shiro, with clear reluctance, lets go, his hands flexing and curling in on themselves. Finally, Shiro braces them against the door behind Keith, his lips hanging open shamelessly. “Fuck, that’s so good, baby…” 

Keith tries not to show how much that affects him, makes him tingle with feel-good endorphins that tell him to keep doing whatever will make Shiro praise him more. Be a good boy. It’s wired into every nerve of his body. 

Another time. 

This time, he takes Shiro in as deep as he can, until he’s choking on the turgid girth of him and swallowing reflexively around Shiro’s dick. Keith can feel precome dribbling onto the back of his tongue in spurts timed to Keith’s moans reverberating around the heated flesh. He lifts the hand that isn’t gripping the base of Shiro’s cock and uses it to brace himself on a muscled thigh. 

God damn this man is built. 

Looking up at Shiro, Keith realizes he must be an obscene sight. Guttural, sloppy sounds fill the air as drool coats his chin. But Shiro doesn’t seem to mind, no, the view seems to  _ wreck  _ him. His pupils are blown wide with lust and his lips hang open, swollen from their earlier kisses. Shiro is staring at Keith like he’s the fucking eighth world wonder and Keith’s ego couldn’t be in a better place. 

He speeds up, and knows it’s good when Shiro starts rambling. 

“Fuck, fuck, that’s good…  _ So good,  _ Keith. I love watching you choke on my cock.” Damn, this guy really is suppressed. But Keith isn’t complaining. He knows he’s kinky enough to eat dirty talk up as if it were filet mignon. “So close, Keith, Keith--” 

Lana Del Ray’s voice interrupts them without a care. ‘ _ Baby I’m a sociopath, sweet serial killer, on the warpath. ‘Cause I love you just a little too much…’  _

Much to Shiro’s obvious dismay, Keith pulls off of him with a wet  _ pop _ . ‘ _ I love you just a little too much…”  _ He take the phone from his back pocket, already knowing who it is by the ringtone, and swipes across the screen to answer it. “Hey,” he says, breathless and before clearing his throat. 

“Hello, Kitten. I’ve finished work early. Can you come to me now?” 

Keith checks the time on his phone quickly. 9:58pm. He stands up and answers while looking directly into Shiro sex-blown eyes. “To you, and for you.” 

“Ohh, you’re in a good mood now. I’ll see you soon.” 

The line goes dead, Keith puts the phone back into his pocket. 

“My appointment’s been moved up,” he says as if Shiro’s hard dick was not just moments away from coming down his throat. Shiro’s brows furrow, but Keith doesn’t give him a chance to speak. “See, he actually knows what he wants from me. He gets my ass, and I get paid.” It’s the truth, and Keith isn’t ashamed of that, but there’s something about saying it to Shiro that upsets him in a weird way that he can’t pin down. So instead of try to figure it out, he opens the front door. 

“Keith,” Shiro starts. But it’s clear he doesn’t know where’s he’s going with it. His voice is still husky and dripping with arousal.

“I told you what I’m offering, Shiro.” Keith can’t look at him when he’s talking. Why can’t he? “I dunno if that lines up with what you want, or not. But it’s up to you to figure it out. Free trial over.” 

After that, Keith leaves. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for bearing with me in between updates! I know they take me 10 and a half years. Come join the shit show of me screaming on twitter @knottygalra xoxo

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Follow me on twitter for screaming, and writing updates @spookysheith


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